


Blast and Damn

by knw



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: 17th Century AU, M/M, rapiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-30
Updated: 2006-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knw/pseuds/knw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU set in 17th Century England.</p><p>In which Atobe's allure gets Ryoma evicted from the capital, and Ryoma and Tezuka trade rackets for rapiers.</p><p>Essentially an extended drabble.</p><p>(Re-posted & backdated)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blast and Damn

**Author's Note:**

> Re-post, originally written for Pillar Challenge #19 'The AU Challenge' and is set in 17th Century England.

Ryoma barely had time to throw his hand out as he hit the mat with a resounding smack, the force still stealing the air from his lungs and leaving him stunned enough to be pinned despite the attempt to brace himself. He could do naught but blink for a few moments before Keigo's smirking visage appeared in his line of sight, acutely aware of the painful angle at which the elder boy had pinned his arm behind his back. Keigo's voice was a singsong of victory already claimed, "Just admit that I'm the most eligible bachelor in London, we both know you won't win this."

Unfortunately, giving in on purpose - no matter how gracefully it might be done - had never been one of Ryoma's strong points and so Keigo  _really_  should have been expecting it when Ryoma's fist arced backwards from the mat to smack him in the mouth. When his knuckles connected with Keigo's teeth both of them ended up swearing, but as Ryoma had been somewhat expecting it he was able to squirm free of Keigo's lock and back away across the room.

"Blast and damn, Ryoma, what will people think if I arrive in court with a swollen face? Keigo Atobe doesn't get in common street brawls." Keigo was poking at his teeth tentatively whilst glowering at his opponent. He did look ridiculous, his perfect face screwed up in a frown as he opened his mouth as wide as possible to inspect the damage. Yet he was still the dashingly handsome Keigo Atobe, his clothing fine as ever, shirt not even untucked from his breeches and his hair had not a strand out of place, still secured back with a black silk ribbon. Thus even while appearing ridiculous he looked gorgeous. Ryoma simply smirked, brushing his hair back over his shoulder as it had fallen in his face during the tussle, and retrieved his mug of ale from beside their discarded cloaks, taking a long draught whilst Keigo inspected himself in the looking glass to ensure the little bastard hadn't done any serious damage.

"You still look perfect, your highness," Ryoma was surveying him with no small amount of amusement over his beverage. Behind his back he flexed his hand uncomfortably, that really had hurt though he wasn't about to admit that to Keigo. The other man would take it as some sign he'd scored a victory and most certainly lord it over Ryoma in and out of public for weeks to come.

Keigo tossed Ryoma a look in the mirror, scoffing, "And what will you tell Lady Sakuno when she says, 'Why Master Echizen, why do you have teeth marks on your hand?' hmm? Tell me that."

"I'll tell her that that second most eligible bachelor in all of London, Master Atobe, decided to nibble on me," there Ryoma paused for a moment to ensure Keigo was really listening, "because I am the first most eligible bachelor in all of London and he gets terribly jealous."

"You little brat!" Keigo exclaimed, spinning away from the mirror – remarkably steadily for his state of sobriety in those heels – to advance on the younger man who hastily set his mug back down.

It was one thing to be awake and drinking late in the eve and it was another to start smashing things and wake the household up. They were currently in one of the upper practise rooms of the Echizen townhouse, having left the tavern long since and returned to the house when Keigo demanded a duel to settle the matter of just who was the most eligible bachelor in London. Ryoma didn't honestly care, he had yet to find a woman who remotely interested him and by far preferred to spend time in the company of other young male courtiers indulging in gentlemanly pursuits. That evening had been a perfect example of just such activities as he and Keigo had spent their time drinking and wrestling as the manservant had convinced them that they might be a little too drunk to fence. Needless to say, they hadn't succeeded in changing first so he'd likely made an accurate call. To Keigo, however, eligibility mattered and so Ryoma humoured his friend, for Keigo would find no satisfaction in Ryoma yielding a speedy and uncaring capitulation to his view point. Ryoma also just liked antagonising the other aristocrat.

Now as Keigo charged at him, fuelled by an impressive quantity of liquor, he found himself re-evaluating the wisdom of that preoccupation. Since this first attack resembled a cavalry charge more than anything else, darting off to the side just as Keigo was upon him succeeded as an evasion and Keigo met the wall with some impressive cursing. Ryoma doubted he'd be lucky enough to have that work a second time though, even drunk as Keigo was, the man remained a formidable opponent and Ryoma was in no better condition to have an advantage.

One hand braced against the wall, Keigo glared at him, pointing with the other in exaggerated gestures meant to punctuate his words, "You, Master Echizen, are a pain in the ass, and only the second bachelor, that is, only the second most eligible bachelor! See?"

"How much did you have to drink again?" Ryoma asked in response, smirking. It was unwise, but he couldn't help himself when it came to needling Keigo, it wasn't as if his companion was ever actually irked by the jabs. That wasn't to say they never got into any fights, just that they were always in good humour.

It was in that moment that Ryoma first heard the disturbance downstairs. It was his father just arriving home no doubt, Nanjiroh possessed an inability to make an acceptably quiet entrance that really rendered Ryoma and Keigo's efforts to remain so rather pointless. Ryoma had learnt long ago that irritating his mother was best left to his father though and so he evaded notice in as much as he was able. He was just wondering how many people would have come back with Lord Echizen this time when Keigo took shameless advantage of his distraction to deposit him flat on his back on the floor, long curly hair fanning around him like a halo as the air was once more knocked from his lungs, "Ow."

"Ha," Keigo really had no cause to sound so infuriatingly smug all the time, especially not after he'd just utterly and blatantly cheated. There was no honour in taking a man whose back was turned!

Unfortunately between the alcohol and being thrown around, Ryoma needed a moment to simply stare at the ceiling while he waited for it to stop spinning. Therefore his best retaliation was an insult, "Stupid monkey-king."

It was another one of those situations where he should have known better as all he received for his trouble was a kick in the thigh. Granted it wasn't a hard kick and didn't particularly hurt since it was toe rather than heel, but that wasn't the point of the matter, Keigo had still kicked him, "Wanker."

Apparently deciding that he'd had enough standing, Keigo joined him on the floor, or rather dropped astride Ryoma's waist in what was possibly meant to be an attempt to keep him pinned but was more successful in nearly causing him to throw up all over his doublet. Thankfully he didn't. It was a sign of how inebriated Keigo was that he'd grabbed Ryoma's mug of ale instead of his wrists, but as Ryoma's stomach was still lurching with the impact of Keigo's weight he wasn't yet ready to try and move so it didn't matter. Keigo gesticulating with the hand holding the mug was less than appreciated, though, especially when the remnants of the ale sloshed into Ryoma's face to the clearly enunciated tune of, "I do not need to wank. Ever. They queue around the block for me."

"Moron," Ryoma muttered as he swiped at his face, struggling to sit up though he failed to dislodge Keigo. He tried pushing at the older man's chest, putting them in abrupt proximity as he listened distractedly to the cacophony proceeding up the stairs before his attention was regained by the capture of his hand and murmur of his name, "What?"

"Ryoma…" came the repeated response, except that Keigo didn't so much say his name as breath it against Ryoma's face as he steadied himself with a hand on the younger man's shoulder. It wasn't entirely pleasant because Keigo smelled distinctly of cheap liquor and Ryoma found he had to support both of them with his back in an awkward position as Keigo leant on him. Practice mats were not terribly comfortable and nor was Keigo very light, yet it somehow didn't really matter because there was something good and dizzying in how Keigo was looking at him now.

"What?" Ryoma repeated, and this time it sounded lower as if he felt the need to whisper too. It also sounded huskier as he met Keigo's gaze, not thinking about how close they were and how they shouldn't be at all. He wasn't thinking about the way they wavered mere inches apart in the most exhilarating way, in a way where he knew something was just about to happen.

"Ryoma!"

Later he could say with certainty that whatever he'd been expecting and even hoping for, his father walking in on them hadn't been it.

* * *

Less than twenty-four hours later, not having seen his friend once, he was sent packing out of the capital. He supposed he should be thankful that Nanjiroh hadn't explained why he was evicting his unmarried first born from London at the start of the season. Ryoma couldn't find any gratitude in him though, he was just resentful and he didn't know who he was most angry at. Nothing had happened,  _nothing_. He didn't know if he was angry at his father's reaction in light of that, or at Keigo for putting him in the situation, or simply at the reality that nothing had gone on despite the fuss.

It didn't matter. That was what he kept telling himself as he rode behind Nanako's carriage, bound for Swallow's Rest and a stay with the Fuji family whom his father deemed appropriate examples – as if he could talk. Apparently Nanako and he wouldn't be the only ones to stay, but his cousin was hoping to woo one of the brothers so that wasn't entirely good news. Ryoma couldn't have cared less if he tried. He liked the city and his friends there and the fact that they could spend their nights getting drunk at their fathers' expense. The countryside… Well, he didn't have the first clue how he was going to occupy himself in the countryside with a bunch of prim and proper gentry. Akaya and Keigo knew how to have a laugh, yet by the time he returned they'd be married and settling down.

Cursing, he nudged his heels into his mount's sides, guiding her out of the baggage train and into an all out gallop along the road, diverting down the first track he came to. He heard his cousin call him back, but he could see the house now and he'd find his way there later. Just this second he wanted to be anywhere but a formally polite entrance hall making small talk with the ideal young man, so he rode hard for long minutes and put as much distance between himself and his impending hosts as he could manage within the bounds of the estate.

It was invigorating, that all out run with the rush of the wind in his face. He didn't care that he almost lost his hat or that it mussed his hair and left him flushed, he merely enjoyed it. Riding was the only decent thing about the countryside, that freedom to charge at speeds unimpeded by anything or anyone. In the city the thrill was only paralleled by an intense duel and he no longer had his most challenging partner available for that. There was no thrill without a challenge, and that was perhaps why he wasn't more irritated when he found himself catching up to another rider astride a fine looking chestnut mare.

If the stranger was aware of Ryoma he didn't indicate as much as Ryoma closed in on him, and that seemed rather careless since the middle of nowhere was hardly safe even on estate grounds. The man wasn't wearing any hat either, although he was clearly some nature of gentleman, and he wore his long, brown hair drawn back and tied neatly with a black ribbon which reminded Ryoma of Keigo. This was likely one of those prissy, ideal gentlemen if how straight he was sitting was anything to go by, or the expensive looking plain green sleeved-cloak about his shoulders. He had excellent posture which was quite at odds with the laxity in the city Ryoma was used to and there was no awkwardness at all despite the stiff way he held himself. Instead, there was only fluid motion as he moved with the horse and Ryoma had to wonder how good a rider this could be. Once Ryoma slowed and drew level it became immediately obvious the man was far more aware of his surroundings than Ryoma had credited him to be.

"This is private property," The stranger said. There was something of a challenge and something of a question underlying the polite tone with which it was stated. The man had the sort of voice that made you shut up and listen, and it tempted Ryoma to chance a glance sideways and take in the man's profile before he could remember to be irked for having been spoken to in such a way. This country gentleman was somewhat older than Ryoma, as far as he could tell, and rather handsome in a cool and distant sort of way that likely stemmed from how he carried himself. He was a little pale and wore simple, wire-frame spectacles. His mouth offered no expression and his eyes gave nothing away, dark behind their lenses and looking directly at him with a strange intensity.

Ryoma almost fell from his mount with surprise when he realised they'd locked eyes, so busy in his perusal he hadn't even realised he, himself, was staring. It immediately made him feel defensive to be blindsided so, tugging the brim of his broad rimmed hat down to hide the colour that would probably infuse his cheeks. At the same time he sat up straighter, looking ahead and regaining the posture he'd been taught in his boyhood with an unsettling sense of self-consciousness as he replied, "I'm a guest here."

Mere silence greeted that statement for the longest time, though it wasn't really silence with the clop of the horse hooves and the creak of leather, the twitter of birds and the whisper of the wind in the distance. It didn't feel totally uncomfortable either, though Ryoma was tempted to look over again to try and gauge what the other man was thinking about in such detail that he had yet to respond. It was a bit annoying the way he was being so callously ignored, but when he did look he saw the man was staring at him again unabashedly, studying him as he spoke, "You're Master Echizen then."

The recognition made Ryoma blink and look ahead again though it wasn't precisely a surprise, it just made him uncomfortable to think this prim and proper man knew anything more about Ryoma than Ryoma did about him. Gradually as he waited he realised the man had no intention of introducing himself and that seemed rather impolite, aloof and unfair, so Ryoma asked, "Are you Master Fuji?"

It was a reasonable question given the estate they were on, but Ryoma belatedly realised it easily gave away his rude behaviour in not greeting his host immediately upon arrival were this not Syuusuke or Yuuta. It was too late to backtrack now, however, and he didn't intend to stay here any longer than he absolutely had to; truthfully, building bridges wasn't on his interest list. It was no real excuse, but no resident at Swallow's Rest would be unaware of the nature of his dismissal from London so he felt free to act as resentfully as he liked.

"No, I'm not," the stranger replied, and it took a second further for Ryoma to realise the man still had no intention of introducing himself for he continued instead, "You settled in very quickly, Master Echizen."

Ryoma scowled under the shadow of his hat. There was no way this man could not know Ryoma hadn't stopped at the house, he was just toying with him and there was no real way for Ryoma to get around it. His options were limited to a confession or digging himself into a deeper hole. Huffing in annoyance he shot a glare at the stranger, who remained entirely unaffected, and said, "I haven't been to the house yet."

His companion reined his mount to a halt then and Ryoma, out of manners, found himself compelled to do likewise when he realised it a few steps further on. They were facing each other now, their mounts halted across the path but dancing in place as if they sensed their riders' tension and wanted to press on. Setting his jaw stubbornly, Ryoma met the stranger's eyes again and wondered at the quiet intensity he saw in the depths as the man said, "The Fuji family has done nothing to merit your disdain."

It was true and his actions in light of such honesty embarrassed Ryoma enough that he tilted his head to shadow his face beneath his hat, his mouth pressed in an unhappy line. He wanted to shout at this man, whoever he was, he wanted to rant and rave at the way he seemed to easily manipulate Ryoma's emotions. Ryoma had been happy being pissed off and hating these people for being prim and upright and judgemental in the precise way this man was now, he didn't want to start feeling guilty about anything, "I don't disdain them."

The lie tasted bitter in his mouth and his companion's expression suggested he hadn't fallen for it in the least. He was looking at Ryoma with a hard expression that left the younger man unnerved, tightening his hands on the reins in a grab at some form of security – there was no reason he should feel cowed.

"Yet, you do them the discourtesy of being the first to meet their guest," the man stated coolly as his penetrating gaze wandered Ryoma's form, pausing briefly at his hip before returning to his face, "A duel to first blood, Master Echizen, dismount."

"What?"

"Dismount," he repeated, as if Ryoma's obvious surprise was of no concern to him. Ryoma suspected, in fact, that it wasn't - that this man apparently thought him to be nothing and had obviously heard no rumour of his renown from the capital. Thus Ryoma could only watch dumbly for long moments as the man, a no-name stranger from the back of beyond, dismounted with clear intent to challenge the young prodigy blindly for the sake of some other country bumpkin. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't been seeing it with his own eyes, watching the man lead his mare off road and loop the reins over the fence in readiness, and even seeing it he wasn't sure he believed it.

"You're making a mistake," Ryoma told him, trying to offer him an out without being so arrogant as to proclaim his own abilities. The man might be able to wield a rapier semi-decently and take it as a slur after all, even if Ryoma knew that he would beat him easily, "Besides, we aren't dressed for it."

There was that distant and unimpressed look aimed at him from behind the lenses again then and he wondered why the hell he was worried about seeming arrogant. The man was begging to be taken down a peg, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what the hell Ryoma was waiting for as he said again, "Dismount, Master Echizen."

It was on the tip of Ryoma's tongue to ask him where he got off telling Ryoma what to do, but Ryoma knew he'd already tarried long enough that it appeared he must be afraid. Sliding gracefully from his seat, he brought his mare over beside the strangers, securing the reins as he glanced over her back to the older man, "Here in the road?"

Keigo's comment about common street brawls came back to him as the stranger nodded, laying his cloak across his saddle, and strode back onto the beaten track they'd been travelling along. The irony of it almost made him smirk as he decided he'd have to write his friend about it; common street brawls in the middle of the countryside indeed. It was at least more level footing that the grazing grounds surrounding them, but that was all Ryoma could say for it.

"As you wish," Ryoma allowed, the words coming out a soft sigh as he followed the older man and adopted a ready stance opposite once he'd drawn his rapier. The first thing he noticed was that in this, as before with his riding, the man's posture was perfect. He was a picture of confidence and collected calm, his eyes steely in their determination, and that was the first thing that alerted Ryoma his opponent might not be the buffoon in this art that he'd assumed. Nevertheless he offered a final out, "We couldn't settle this any other way?"

"A gentlemen does not back down from a duel," the stranger stated coolly, his words stinging like a slap in the face which was doubtless precisely what he had intended. If Ryoma had been rude regarding his hosts, then their champion had just paid him back in kind, yet he'd managed to say it in such as way that it appeared mere observation and Ryoma had no option to call him upon it. Ryoma was cursing him mentally, even as he was listening to him continue, "First blood. On the count of three."

However angry Ryoma was at the slight, it wasn't enough to override his concentration and lead to slips. His focus turned out to be a good thing as the stranger closed in, fluid motion once more, utterly comfortable as he made the first move. Ryoma parried but his riposte was turned away with practiced ease. While that might have been of little consequence when they were merely gauging each other, it was enough, now, to indicate that this man was more than competent in his abilities. For the first time that day Ryoma really felt like smiling - this was even better than the rush of a gallop.

Although he'd never been one for barbs during a fight, Ryoma could admit that the silence of his opponent was somewhat unnerving. It took him a long moment to put his finger on what it was that was irking him. It only slid into place as a parry brought him in close proximity and he realised his adversary wasn't breathing heavily in the least. Neither was Ryoma, but usually his opponents were by this stage so it brought forth a new respect for the man across from him. Backing away he tossed the rapier from his right hand to left, "No handicaps."

The stranger regarded him for a moment, the corner of his mouth quirking in what, for him, might have amounted to a smile to rival Ryoma's judging by how stoic he was. As Ryoma watched him toss his rapier from right to left too, echoing Ryoma's own sentiment, he felt as though he were on the precipice of something grand. And then they fell upon each other and it was a bigger rush than he'd ever experienced in his life.

The jabs, the swipes, the parrying and countering, it was an intricate dance that felt more intimate than any time he'd spent with Lady Sakuno at the palace balls. Their blades were a blur of steel between them, an iron tempest that raged back and forth. A few times Ryoma found himself coming close, a seemingly exposed sleeve or thigh presenting itself which a quick thrust and twist put him in inches of only to be parried as he felt victory brush his lips in a fleeting farewell.

The moment in which it dawned upon Ryoma that he wouldn't win the fight, that he couldn't in fact, was nothing like he'd expected it to be. In his nightmares, Ryoma had always seen defeat as a crushing end, a failure that would ruin him. Now, as he faced it head on, he decided that nothing had ever felt quite as good as the burn of his muscles while he forced himself to keep up; thrust, parry, riposte, parry. No longer any steps though, the stranger had brought them to a halt and he was controlling the flow of their duel now. Ryoma was keeping up, but he couldn't see any openings and every time he blocked an advance his foe flowed around it easily to press him again from a new side.

As the stranger seemed to become faster, Ryoma felt the end drawing nigh. His chest was heaving, his heavy curls damp with sweat at the nape of his neck and his undershirt becoming sticky with the same. Ryoma's comfort was that as well as his adversary was doing, the older man was beginning to suffer similarly. The gleam in his eyes though, a gleam Ryoma knew he himself shared, that made his state of exertion worthwhile.

The strike that ended it, a blur of steel close to his eye, had him stumbling back enough to lose his footing. Even without landing on his arse he knew he'd flailed and he was duly mortified long before he looked back to the stranger's shocked expression or felt the sting of his own cheek. Touching his fingers to his face, he marvelled as they came away stained glistening red.

His companion moved forward instantly, apology on his lips, "I didn't—"

"I'll beat you next time," Ryoma cut him off, smirking at him from beneath his hat brim. He didn't intend to admit how much he liked it when the older man's mouth twitched at the corner in that not-quite smile again, or how it did something strange to him inside to see the way that cool gaze was no longer looking at him like he was nothing.

Suddenly, Ryoma's banishment didn't seem nearly so undesirable and it was with quite an uncharacteristic interest that he accepted the stranger's hand and allowed him to tug Ryoma to his feet again.

When he released Ryoma, turning away to conceal his expression without bothering to introduce himself, Ryoma merely followed silently.

The next move, he knew, would be his.


End file.
